Reflections
by Dark Aegis
Summary: He never paused to look in a mirror. A character study of the Ninth and Tenth Doctors post regeneration.


**Title:** Reflections  
**Author:** Gillian Taylor  
**Rating:** PG  
**Characters:** Ninth Doctor, Tenth Doctor  
**Summary:** He never paused to look in a mirror.  
**Spoilers:** Gallifrey go Boom, PotW, TCI  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own them. I just like playing with them...a lot.  
**Archive:** Sure, just let me know.

**A/N:** Brought about by a discussion of why Nine seemed surprised by his reflection in 'Rose.' Thanks, as always, to my fabulous beta WMR.

* * *

_"Reflections"  
by Gillian Taylor_

Darkness had swallowed him, had consumed him. In the darkness, the memories could not reach him. In the darkness, he was safe. In the darkness, he wasn't alone.

_Never alone, old chap. Never alone._

But he was. He was. He'd killed them. Oh, Rassilon, what had he done?

_What you had to do. What you've always done. What we've always done. _

Everything had burned. He had burned. Gallifrey had burned. His TARDIS had burned. His people had burned. The Daleks had burned.

It had burned until all that was left was rubble, ashes, and dust.

Everything had died. Everything except for him.

He had burned with Rassilon's miracle. Regenerated, was reborn. He had lived, and for what? What was it all for? Why couldn't the universe just let him go? If anything, he deserved death. Would welcome it.

But, as ever, She'd denied him.

_As well She should! There's so much left to do, old boy. So much..._

There was nothing. He was nothing.

All those labels, all those names. Some earned, some given, some assumed. Who was he now? The Doctor? Coward? Rebel? The Destroyer of Worlds? The Bringer of Darkness? The Deceiver? The Oncoming Storm? Time's Champion?

Or was he simply the last Time Lord?

_Nothing 'simply' about it, young man._

_Brave heart, chap, brave heart._

Everything was gone. Everything he'd cared for. Everything...

_Not everything. Your friends..._

He would end up killing them, too. Or outlasting them. Everything had burned. He burned everything he touched.

_Snap out of it, man! You survived, yes. Gallifrey's gone. The Time Lords are gone. But you still live. You're alive. It's about time you started acting like it._

But it was so much easier to stay in the darkness. No pain, no memories, no...

_No life. You stay here, and you don't live. You just exist, and that's not something we've ever done. Why walk when you could run? Why stay here when you could see the universe?_

Gallifrey. Oh, Rassilon, what had he done?

_You lived._

Why, he wanted to cry. Why had he lived when everyone else had died? Why him? Why?

Not even his past selves could answer that question. There was no answer.

He just lived and, for now, that would have to be enough.

* * *

Clothes could be armour, he realised. In black, he was protected. Clad in dark colours, the pain could be held at bay. He could face the universe, live, with that protection.

Gallifrey was gone. The Time Lords were dead. But he still lived.

He still had a purpose, a meaning. Something to do, something to be. As long as he never, ever stopped.

Stopping meant the memories would overwhelm him. Stopping meant that the pain had won. It was better to run. Better to fight. Better to throw himself into life and forget, for a time, that he had seen the end of the last Time War. Forget that he was alone.

He never paused to regard himself in a mirror. Never took time to see his new appearance. He knew what he looked like. Knew what he'd see if he stared into a reflective surface for too long.

He'd see death. Not his death, but those of the countless innocents that had been killed by his actions or inactions.

He'd see his failures. Gallifrey. And so, so many others. He wasn't perfect, but now he'd outlived those who might've rectified those failures. He'd outlived the Time Lords. No more Council calling him to trial for his deeds or misdeeds. No more anything.

And he'd see himself. See the man who could push a button and destroy a world. For the best of reasons, best of choices, yes. But he'd still pushed that button. And Gallifrey had died along with the Daleks.

No, it was better to avoid the mirrors. Avoid the reflective surfaces. He knew what lay beneath. He didn't need to see it for himself.

So he didn't. Didn't look, didn't avail himself of mirrors or ponds. Didn't want to see the truth. It was another layer of armour over the black.

And then he met her. Rose Tyler. First in the basement of a department store, then at her home. Something stirred inside him, a curiosity. She wasn't scared by him. She hadn't shied away when he'd told her to run. She'd demanded answers to her questions. She'd looked at him.

Really looked at him. And she didn't see his fears. Couldn't. Because she still looked.

There was a mirror in her flat. A small, tiny mirror and he found himself drawn to it.

Maybe it was time.

He looked.

And saw himself. Just a tall bloke, big ears, long nose. Not bad. Not bad at all.

Death wasn't written all over his face, after all. Just over his soul.

* * *

_Back again? Setting records now, aren't I?_

_Oi!_

_He had no choice. Noblest of reasons._

_But definitely a record. Shortest life since, what? Two?_

_D'you mind? Now 'm rememberin' why I hated regeneration sickness. Listenin' to you blokes again._

Pain and fire filled him, consumed him. The end of the world, the end of his world, but it'd been worth it. Hadn't it? Rose lived. He lived, after a fashion. New form, sure. New life, yes. But everybody lived.

_But the Time Vortex? Blimey, never thought I'd do a daft thing like that._

_Noblest of reasons. We've done it before. Will do it again. Saved a companion's life. It's worth it._

_Er, yes. About that. Try not to strangle her when you wake up? I don't think I can handle another companion looking at me in quite that way again._

_You'd better not! Might be nothin' more than a voice in your head now, but I'll haunt you if you so much as..._

Oh, shut up. Too many what ifs in his past self's words. He wouldn't hurt her. He'd died for her. Sure, Peri hadn't had the best of it last time he'd done so but this was different. New man. Well, new to the tenth man.

_"The Doctor wouldn't do this. The old Doctor. The proper Doctor. He'd wake up. He'd save us." _

Rose's words filtered to him through the post-regeneration fugue. He heard her voice break, heard the despair in her voice, felt her give up. If he could, he would've sighed. It felt like a betrayal.

_'S not like we told her 'bout regeneration. Jus' some stupid tale 'bout how I'd change. Didn't have enough time to give her details. Sorry 'bout that._

_She'll come around. They always do._

Or so he hoped. Lost his planet first, now lost his companion. Not setting a good trend for his latest regenerations, was he?

* * *

Clothes had been an amour. A defence against the pain, a defence against the memories. For a time, they'd even become a defence against Rose.

Not anymore.

New man. New Doctor. New clothes. Clothes that were just that. Clothes. Pieces of fabric stitched together to protect from the elements. Nothing more.

This regeneration had healed him. Well, to an extent. Still harboured a universe's worth of guilt over his past actions, but nothing like before. He felt...giddy. Like he had that day when everyone had lived.

This time, he suspected, it was permanent. Rose had accepted him. Recognised him. And, he supposed, she'd still come with him. See the universe, see the stars, see everything the world - past, present and future- could offer at his side.

This time there was no hesitation when he went to the mirror. This time he looked, and looked willingly.

Younger, bit thinner, lots of hair. Not bad, really. Not bad at all.

And, as he stared into the reflection, he realised just what he could see.

He saw the Doctor. As he had been, as he was, and as he always would be.

He saw himself and that was all the reflection he'd ever truly needed.

_FIN_


End file.
